


the finest flower i ever saw is withered to a stalk

by solus_piccolo



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kinda, Multi, OT3, Past Relationship(s), Polyamory, Pre-Poly, Pre-Relationship, Temporary Character Death, Unhealthy Relationships, i don't know what to tag this ah
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 03:06:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19737070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solus_piccolo/pseuds/solus_piccolo
Summary: in which mad sweeney was the sun and when he dies those who loved him are left to wonder about what they lost.





	the finest flower i ever saw is withered to a stalk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a character study of shadow, his progression, and the development in the relationships he has with sweeney and laura.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! thank you for reading, this is a three part fic, it's kinda a character study on each of them as well as the development of their relationships with each other. i hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> (this has been sitting in my drafts forever, with most of it already done and i really love the concept of it so i'm finally deciding to post it.)

_You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips,_

_But my breath smells earthly strong;_

_If you have one kiss of my clay cold lips,_

_Your time will not be long."_

Shadow had loved his wife, that much was true. Finding out she had died had been like, well it felt like a piece of himself had died with her. For the longest time he had just been surviving, living just to live; then he had met her. She hadn’t just changed everything for him, she had changed him. He liked to think that was why she thought of him as her puppy, because that's how he looked at her—when he didn't look at anyone else that way. Only her. Like he would follow her anywhere, do anything for her, kill for her, die for her. 

And he did. He proved it. He went to prison for her, he had done a stupid fucking thing knowing it was a well and true fucking thing and he had done it all for her, because she wasn’t happy. He would have moved the world if he could to make her happy, so he had done a stupid thing, to help her—to fix her problem and while he was rotting in prison she fucking died.

She died fucking his friend. 

How fucking ironic was that. The thing he had done to fix it, to help her, to make her happy had been their undoing. He had went to prison and she had cheated on him who knows how many times. That had felt like an even bigger betrayal than her dying on him. She had been fucking his friend while he had been in prison, protecting her, and for what? He wanted to hate her for it, but he couldn't and he wanted to attribute it to the fact that she was dead but he knew that it wasn't that. It was because even he still loved her, despite all that. And she was dead, so he couldn't really change anything. He wanted to bash Robbie's face in but that bastard had died too so he couldn't even do that. 

But, he was still so fucking angry. Rage simmering just under the surface, waiting for someone to bait him enough for him to react. He'd had a lot of practice with people trying to bait him in the last six years so that wasn't an easy task but the ginger fuck made it look easy. He did a few coin tricks, proclaimed himself a leprechaun, and then had talked shit about his dead wife and shit had gone down from there. He had been damn near vibrating on his stool in rage when the jolly fuck began talking about his wife. 

And that was that, bait was taken. It didn't go as he had expected it to go though. 

Since he learned she had died, fighting the unusually tall leprechaun was the first thing he had done for himself. Before her he'd been coasting, going with the flow of life, where ever his cons took him, where ever he felt pulled but it was more out of the need for survival than it was desire. Fighting Sweeney was the first thing he'd done for himself since leaving prison and even at the beginning that felt like a task... until it didn't. 

Then it was sort of fun. 

Blood in his mouth, blood on his bruised and split knuckles, the only thing in his vision the bloodied face of Mad Sweeney grinning at him. Asking him if he felt the joy of it. And fuck, he did, that's what made him hesitate for a moment. He hadn't felt a fire ignited in him like this since... well, since Laura and wasn't that something. Wasn't that a cosmic joke? The fire in his stomach and the feeling like he was too large for his skin, like he was burning through his body. It sounded awful but it was a high and he hated that he was feeling it in her absence.

He had won the fight and the coin... but what had he really won? He had won a high, a rage—a feeling of burning heat that gave him a reason to desire something for himself. That reason, that desire, just reminded him of her more. Made him feel her absence more. All he'd really won was more pain, literally and metaphorically. 

Then, as many things in his life had, things took a strange turn and suddenly his dead wife wasn't so dead anymore. 

(That seemed to be inadvertently his fault as well.)

He had to come to terms with that. That it was only one thing on the long list of weird shit that had happened to him in that few days since he'd been out of prison. That it was strange but not the strangest thing that had happened to him, although it was high on the list of fuckery. His dead wife being not dead was something he had to come to terms with. That was an actual thing he had to do, and to his surprise he did it with relative ease. He thought it was the anger that eased the way, but also how fucking weird his life had been since Mr. Wednesday had up and fucked it. 

When Shadow had spoken with her and she'd explained things to him and he'd vented he had barely let out a portion of the hurt and rage he felt towards her. It felt like hate, it did but he knew it wasn't. He knew it couldn't be. That he couldn't hate her. And when she'd kissed him he'd felt sick. Not because she was dead and because she was cold but because he still wanted her, despite everything she had done—despite all the ways she had hurt him. That made him want to claw his eyes out hysterically because... because fuck, when someone hurts you the way she hurt him you don't still want them. 

At that point it was just self-destruction. 

That was the difference. He hated things about her, he didn't hate her. He hated how she made him weak, weak to her, enamored with her. 

She’d kissed him and he didn’t know what to with himself. A part of himself had wanted to recoil in disgust, she was cold, but that didn’t bother him as much as he thought it should. Another part of him wanted to kiss her back, so he had stood there and done nothing. He thought if he did nothing she’d eventually stop and he wouldn’t have to do anything, he wouldn’t have to hurt her and he wouldn’t have to be hurt by her. He had been weak. He had known after that that he needed to get his head screwed on straight when it came to her.

He was weak when it came to her and yet still he found it within himself to not give in to what she wanted from him. That was probably the anger, the lingering memory of what she'd done to him. The way she'd died. The hurt, the broken promises she'd made to him. Those were probably the only things keeping him from accepting her back. He realized that she expected him to kiss her back, that the hurt on her face was minuscule and the shock on her face far overshadowed it when he didn’t. His refusal to to as she willed was so shocking to her, she had realized he wasn’t just going to bend to do her every whim; that she couldn’t change him anymore.

He was weak to her but he was getting stronger. He had made himself stronger. What had once felt like a raging fire too out of control, something that could never be extinguished now just felt like smoldering embers. Still there, and could at any moment—with the right breeze—begin again, but he refused to let it be like last time. 

He wouldn't be hurt by her again. Not like that. 

* * *

Shadow had been looking for her, but he found him instead. Passed out under a bridge, looking like a sorry fucking troll. It seemed that where ever Laura was he now was as well, he had to follow his lucky coin and all shit. She just happened to be hosting it inside her chest cavity, luck of the draw he supposed. He thought that should also bother him, Sweeney of all people being with his undead wife. It didn’t, not that much. Or if it did, which he didn’t like to entertain, it was for all the wrong reasons.

"If you keep sleeping under bridges people will start thinking you're a troll instead of a leprechaun." Shadow informed him. 

Sweeney gazed up at him, a smirk on his face. He scoffed out something that sounded like a laugh, it all looked off on his face, like he was amused but something was wrong. "Maybe I am," he had said. "Sometimes I remember things one way, sometimes I remember them another way." 

Shadow frowned. He hadn't wanted to play Sweeney's games but per usual he did anyway, he gave Mads the twenty dollar bill only for him only to be a complete asshole and get all in his face, talking complete nonsense—that logically Shadow knew probably wasn't nonsense. But he couldn't focus on the words so much when the mans hands were on his face and he was whispering it directly into his ear, it was distracting. Shadow felt that same buzzing sensation, just under his skin, like he was too large for his skin; the same one he'd felt in the bar. 

Several moments passed were neither one of them spoke, they only stared at each other. Shadow took a breath, leaned back and said, "Come on." 

He never found Laura. He thought that too should have been more bothersome to him. He tried not to think about it too much.

* * *

Sweeney was acting really fucking weird, which wasn't saying much but he also was seeking Shadow out which was quite odd. To talk. That was the fucking weird part. Mad Sweeney usually only ever talked to, baited, or riled Shadow up when he was easily available and he didn't have to put in much work. So, when he had showed up in Shadow's door frame looking as drunk as he usually did it was odd. 

Odd was the descriptive word of describe his life now. 

Then the insults began, which was normal so Shadow began to feel a little at ease. That’s when he told Shadow not to get involved in a very vague way—again that was very normal for Shadow at this point—and he’d just stupidly agreed. If it had been anyone else he would have refused, but... He didn't even know, not until he asked, "How was Laura? When you saw her last?" The expression that flashed over Mads face lightning quick was hard to place, but if he tried—guilt and shame and, most disturbingly, fondness. Shadow didn’t know how to feel or most importantly what to think in the slew of all those quick micro-expressions. 

"The dead wife?" He asked. "She's fucking great, probably due to the fact she's in possession of my fucking lucky coin. Back on the way to full life." 

Shadow shook his head at that. There was something in Sweeney's eyes as he had said it that made Shadow pause, again, it was fond. Whatever had happened while they were together Sweeney had grew fond of Laura and Shadow was very conflicted about it. He wasn’t angry, or jealous. It was just odd. There was pain there, but that wasn't unusual. That was the pain he always felt when he thought about or saw her these days. Sweeney made a noise and looked displeased when Shadow looked up from where he sat on his bed. "If the dead wife is causing you this much anguish to the point where you are this pathetic you should just let her go," he said. 

Shadow blinked and then, "I don't think I can." 

The ginger fuck rolled his eyes and then sat next to him without permission and glared at Shadow. "I'm going to share something with you and if you make fun of me I will take that spear and shove it up your arse," he growled. Shadow held in his laugh but couldn't hold in his smile. "Fuck you. There is a song from where I'm from... it—I guess you could take something from it. What do I know? I'm gonna sing it, if you laugh at me—"

Shadow held up his hands. "Yeah, I know. I get stabbed up the ass with the spear I'm supposed to be guarding." He had a grin on his face. 

Sweeney grunted in affirmation. 

Then he steadfastly looked forward, hands on his thighs and began to sing. Shadow was kind of stunned, Sweeney had threatened him with a spearing if he were to make fun of him but Sweeney wasn't bad... not at all. His Irish lilt and deeper voice made the song almost more haunting and resonating than the words by themselves. For all the brashness Sweeney always possessed his singing voice was shades softer and almost made him seem vulnerable. It was mesmerizing. 

_"The wind doth blow today, my love,_

_And a few small drops of rain;_

_I never had but one true-love,_

_In cold grave she was lain._

_"I'll do as much for my true-love_

_As any young man may;_

_I'll sit and mourn all at her grave_

_For a twelvemonth and a day."_

_"The twelvemonth and a day being up,_

_The dead begin to speak:_

_'Oh who sits weeping on my grave,_

_And will not let me sleep?'"_

_"'T is I, my dear, sits on your grave,_

_And will not let you sleep;_

_For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips,_

_And that is all I seek._

_You seek one kiss of my clay-cold lips,_

_But my breath smells earthy strong;_

_If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips,_

_Your time will not be long._

_"'T is down in yonder garden green,_

_Love, where we used to walk,_

_The finest flower that e're was seen_

_Is withered to a stalk._

_"The stalk is withered dry, my love,_

_So will our heart decay;_

_So make yourself content, my love,_

_Till God calls you away."_

When Sweeney had finished Shadow's lips had parted and he let out a breath he realized he had been holding. A moment went by and Sweeney took in air as he opened his eyes that had closed as he’d been singing. He stared back at Shadow for a long moment before he looked away again. "It means, Shadow, that sometimes you just have to let shit go. Especially if it’s holding you back and hurting you." Sweeney finally said. 

"Yeah." Was all Shadow is capable of. He wasn’t capable of words because he was shocked, he wasn’t expecting this, much less from Sweeney. He’d been expecting someone to talk to him about Laura but never Sweeney and if it was him he’d never have thought he’d be as well… nice and considerate as he was being.

Sweeney shot him an unimpressed look. "She's telling him to go be happy, to be content. That if he tries to be with her their love with wither; decay. It'll rot, like her fucking corpse. Because you can love something that is dead but it can't love you back," he hissed. "She let him go. Do you get it? His happiness was more important to her, she knew she was dead and that nothing could be done. She didn't want him to ruin himself trying to love her back to life." 

"I fucking get it." Shadow spat, hands fisted in the duvet. It was quiet for a while, in which Shadow thought he would have left but he hadn't and Shadow could feel his eyes on him. Shadow met Sweeney's eyes. "Also you really have a complex about your singing voice. It's really not that bad." 

Sweeney was silent a beat before he broke into laughter. "Fuck you, Shadow Moon." He said, between fits of laughter. When he wasn't laughing anymore he stood and walked back out of Shadow's room but before he turned to go down the hall he looked over his shoulder. "Remember what I said, okay? Let shit go." 

"Yeah, yeah." 

Sweeney smiled and shook his head as he took his leave. 

Shadow thought about his smile as he replayed the song in his head again and thought about the words. The song was playing in his head when his body seemed to act on it's own and suddenly he was responsible for having killed Mad Sweeney. He had gotten involved, he hadn't let it go. And after, it hurt more than he thought it was going to, seeing the life leave Sweeney's eyes, for completely different reasons then the ones he would've thought. There was mourning, grief. His whole heart ached, he didn't cry—he didn't think he deserved to after what he'd done. He was responsible for that, for having killed him. Shadow hated himself in that moment, and many long moments after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> any and all mistakes are mine and as always because i'm obsessive that way they will probably be fixed soon after this is posted. the next chapter will probably be posted soon as these are short and i've already started working on it. lemme know what you think!

**Author's Note:**

> if you wanna interact with me my tumblr is @okneiljos !!! follow me and shoot me a message or an ask!


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